Pick You Up Like a Paper Cup
by AllHandsLinked
Summary: Sometime you have to loose everything to be brave. To go for what you want. And sometimes it even pays off.  Blaine-centric story, semi-future AU
1. Chapter 1

**Diclaimer: I hereby dis the claim that I have any ownership over anything to do with glee or its characters. **

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><p>Blaine knew the scene well: this coffee shop, this table, this beautiful man sitting across from him. It had been almost two years, he mused to himself, his eyes tracing the curve of a delicate lip, soft pink against pale white skin. Blaine tilted his head, taking in the light brown hair, pushed back just <em>so, <em>before lowering his eyes to meet a questioning, bright blue eye under a delicately arched eyebrow.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked Blaine, relaxing back on his chair.

"You know I almost sang to you at the Gap you used to work in, but I…"_chickened out_ "Couldn't get the other Warblers to agree."

Jeremiah laughed, sitting up. "Oh really? Did you have a crush on me? How cute." Blaine stomach flipped as Jeremiah patted his hand. "It's at times like these when I remember just how young you are, Blaine."

"I'm seventeen." Blaine protested Jeremiah's patronizing tone. His shoulders curved in slightly. Every time he said something like this. Something that might open up their friendship to _more _Jeremiah didn't even notice.

Jeremiah didn't even acknowledge Blaine's statement. Instead he checked his watch. "Speaking of, I have to get out of here." He took a final sip before standing.

"Good luck." Blaine murmured half heartedly to the other boy.

"Well it can't be as bad as the last blind date, can it?" Jeremiah gave him a tiny wave and was off, a perfect whirlwind of grace and calm.

Blaine resisted the urge to bang his head against the table in front of him.

Blaine thought back all those months, to the when he had decided to kiss Jeremiah_. _Blaine had watched Jer's face intently; he didn't even remember the movie. He did remember that when he finally worked up the courage and leaned in, mouth opened slightly, Jeremiah had turned and put a potato chip in his mouth.

"_Try this! Aren't they great? Sour Cream and Onion chips are my new favorite things _ever."_ Jeremiah turned his attention back to the movie and Blaine tried to forget the salty sting of rejection as he swallowed the chip._

After that he had even managed to get over Jer for a while. Then something would jolt him back into the crush, Jeremiah would complement him on his clothes, or look at him and tell him he looked older. Blaine would find himself in the exact same position all over again, head over heels.

The worst part was he had no one he could really talk to about his feelings, ever. He was sure Wes and David would listen politely if he ever needed it, but they were at university, and they had mostly had a working relationship within the Warblers. He could talk to Matt or maybe Nick, his closest friends in the group. But they tended to want to throw around a football or jam. Neither of which involved any kind of talking about feelings. And come to think of it, he hadn't had time to talk to either one in a month or so, everyone had seemed to busy these days.

And talking to either one of his parents was laughable. They wouldn't even look him in the eye when he explained _again_ how being gay meant that he didn't want to take Angelica Tanner to the party, however good a friend her parents might be, and however beautiful she might have gotten in the last year.

Blaine tipped the end of his coffee up to catch the last drops and stood, swinging his bag onto one shoulder.

He was still pouting as the heavy sound of the front door closing behind him echoed dimly off the high ceiling and the pristine white walls and cool modern statues that stood in the entrance hall. Everywhere were tints of white on white. The only paintings were like Pollack's paintings, but gone horribly wrong and minimalist.

"I'm home." Blaine whispered to the empty building. He slipped out of his shoes and tossed his keys in them. His feet fought for friction against the cool flooring and Blaine shivered as the coldness seeped through his thing socks and travel rapidly up his legs.

This was not his mother's style. It was the choice of the decorator that she had hired two years ago and then fired when she had seen the nearly completed house. Nothing had been done since no one used the place for more than a month or two in a year, except Blaine when he was at school.

Blaine was thankful for the whitewashed wood at the top of the stairs under his feet. But the chill had already settled in so he grabbed a blanket out of the linen closet on his way to his room. He had it firmly wrapped around himself by the time he climbed onto his bed and booted up his laptop. The rich colors enfolded him. It was the only room in the house that the designer who had gone mad on white hadn't touched. He had instead painted the walls a deep green all by himself and gotten his hands on some old antique Americana furniture. It was all clunky roughly joined, but polished to a glowing sheen with age.

His computer whirled on his lap and he opened up garage band. He slipped his headphones back to lose himself in fixing the song he had been recording.

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><p>His alarm went off at an ungodly hour. Blaine made a point not to look out the window until he was showed dressed and downstairs eating breakfast. Even then it was still dark outside. Blaine smiled regardless.<p>

This morning was Warbler practice. He hummed to himself as he threw on his coat and a scarf then hurdled out the door. He spared only a brief wave to the few workmen straggling in.

Maybe he could get them to take down the god-awful installation over the stairs.

Blaine cranked his car stereo on the drive to school, pulling into the parking lot in record time.

The hallways of Dalton were warm. Blaine knew that it was most likely due to its use of dark woods and orange tinged lighting. But he liked too think instead that it was all the people. He liked to think it was somewhere to belong.

Blaine took in the familiar sounds, the thrum of excited voices and the click of well polished loafers against the marble floor. A smile creeps on his lips as he walks and notices little imperfections in the school, a dent in that lamp there from when they had moved from throwing paper in the air to throwing bags and full books. A scratch on the ornate wall cover up there from when they decided they should end the performance by throwing Blaine onto center stage. He grimaced at the scuffs in the soft leather, due to arguments over philosophy in the senior commons. That one they had actually gotten in trouble for.

Blaine bounded down the hall to the practice hall. His fingers tapped out a rhythm on the strap of his bag and burst through the oak doors, a bundle of energy.

All of his forward motion came to an abrupt halt as he passed through the doors. The Warblers were there already, seated and Chase was banging his gavel.

"May we have the vote now?" He called, gaining the attention of the room once more. Chase may have phrased it as a question, but it came across more like an order. That was one of the reasons why Blaine didn't like him. He took things more seriously than Thad had, as improbable as that seemed.

A few hands were raise and Blaine looked around questioning."What are we voting on?"

"Warbler Blaine. Please be quiet while the vote is being taken."

Blaine bit his lip and tired not to bounce on his heels.

"Passed." Chase intoned, turning his focus to Blaine. "Warbler Blaine?"

"Ok. I just wanted to say that I have the best idea for a new song-"

"That was not permission to speak." Chase's eyes were intent as he folded his hands and continued. "I have important news to share with you. The Warblers have spoken and it seems you will no longer be representing us as lead man in the upcoming competition. You will be, of course, welcome to resume you position as second tenor."

Blaine looked around stunned at his compatriots. "But, why?" Blaine looked around but no one would met his eye.

Chase smirked. "It we have not actually won the show choir in the past two years. We are hoping that we correct that, by making a change for the better. Now I believe we have covered everything for this meeting."

"I am sorry that I disappointed you all. I just wish you had told me. I think I have the right to be involved in this decision, seeing as I am a senior member-"

"No, you do not." Chad cut him off again. "You seemed to have had Wes and David under your thumb, and Thad carried on the tradition last year, but now that they are gone, we will have a new lead. And auditions will be held Tuesday at four, sharp. I am sorry if that steps on your pride, Mr. Anderson, but it is for the team. That comes before anything else." The gavel banged twice and the meeting was over.

Blaine stood very still in the flurry of activity. No more leads. He could deal with that. It was something that he had come to expect, but he could be just another part of the team. Everyone was an important member in the a capella group. He just would have to remind himself of that. He could force himself so sway into the background. He could make himself back into nothing special. Goodness knows that he had enough practice at that.

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><p>Blaine gathered himself from the leather couch when the first bell rang. He wiped at his eyes and took a deep breath before he could face the hallways. Bodies pushed by him as he fought the flow of traffic to get to the second floor.<p>

By the time he got to his class he was sure that his eyes no longer betrayed the hurt of the morning. He could get through today. He would sit in the back of class and finish the song he had been writing last night in his head. Ms. Slant would let him get away with sitting in the back of class and not talking.

He seated himself and took out his completed homework. He didn't make eye contact with any of the other students as they filled in before the second bell.

"Justin Allen?" Ms. Slant read off her clipboard.

"Here." Justin was marked off the list.

"Blaine Ander-"She stopped. "Hun." She looked down at her list again, scanning more carefully. Then she rapidly flipped through the sheets on her clipboard. She paused for a second, looking up. "Will you report to the office Blaine?" Her eyes were sad when she looked at him.

Blaine nodded, tight lipped, and stood.

"You should probably take your bag."He voice was soft and tinged with compassion.

The class was deadly silent as Blaine reached down for his bag. He hoped that it was about his perfect attendance record, or the fact that he was top of all of his classes. But with how this day was going, he doubted it.

His footsteps in the halls were heavy and slow, in complete contrast to the flutter his heart was in. He had never been to the office before, not since his first day. Even then, at least his parents had been with him.

The secretary nodded him in directly to the Headmaster's office.

"Ah, Blaine. Good to see you even if it is under these conditions. Please sit. " He smiled and gestured for Blaine to sit down. Blaine took the seat, trying not to stare too hard at the broad man in front of him. When he had first met the Headmaster Blaine had been reminded of a giant frog with small glasses squashed on his face, like something out of _The Wind in The Willows_. At least some things hadn't changed. "You are a model student, Blaine. It is a sad day for this establishment that we are losing you."

"Sir?" Blaine dropped his bag and tried to focus on what the Headmaster had said. "I'm not in trouble?"

"Of course not." The man looked surprised. "Your transfer papers went through this morning."

"Sorry, my what?"

"Did your parents not tell you?" The Headmaster sighed and pushed a button on the intercom. "Mrs Findlay? Please get The Andersons put through to me. Thank you."

"What-where am I being transferred?" Blaine's hands shook, but he already knew the answer.

There was a shuffling of papers as The Headmaster found the correct line. "St. Augustine's Prep."

Blaine clenched his mouth around a sob. They wouldn't. They couldn't.

The Headmaster looked mildly uncomfortable and shifted in his seat "You know, Blaine. I-"

The phone rang once. He picked it up and handed it to Blaine.

"You didn't." Blaine's voice came out low and defeated.

"Didn't do what, Honey?"The silky sweat voice floated out of the phone.

"Mom, please tell me you didn't send me back to that school." Blaine tried his best to stop the shake in his voice.

"Your father and I thought it was best love. I can't believe I forgot to tell you." Her voice trailed off slightly. "There was something else as well, but I can't quite remember."

Blaine tried not to lose her. "Mother. I can't go back there. Do you remember what happened to me? Remember all those stitches? I won't be safe. That is what I came here, remember?"

"Oh sweetie, that was years ago. Those boys have probably graduated by now. And this school will look better on your transcript for Yale. Do you know how hard it is to get into their pre-med program?"

"I am not going there. I am not going to be a doctor."

"Don't be silly dear, this is not a good time. Now, I really must go. Emily will be here any minute and those martinis aren't going to mix themselves!"

"Bye, Mother."

"Hold on just a titch, darling. I remember now. Your room! We missed it last time we re-decorated, so I asked them to start on it this morning. You will have to stay in one of the guestrooms for the next few days. But you will like the pieces I picked out for it! It's all chrome! Exciting, no? Daddy sends his love from the beach. Talk to you later, love." The line when dead in his hand.

Not that Blaine noticed.

The Headmaster looked at him in sympathy. "You could stay, just for this afternoon." His stern look softened over his tiny rectangular glasses.

"No." Blaine stood up looking down at his shoes. "I want to go, home." Oh how he wished he could.

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><p><strong>Thank you to Jen and Christine for reading it over for me. I have A LOT more planned out for this story and I really want to get it all written. <strong>

**Thank you for reading! And I am always happy to hear suggestions and such!**

**Also I am not sure about the rating. *looks at smut longingly but with apprehension* **


	2. Chapter 2

Blaine unclenches his fingers around the handle of his bag. He worries the plastic between his fingers. His eyes look up, once again, and search the departures list.

_New York express, 18:10, platform 3_

He tries to push back the memories of his first day back at _that_ school. Nothing had changed. Not that he had the right to hope for anything different.

The vinyl of the seat under him squeaks as he stands and the cheap foam cushion regains its original form. His shoes scuff on the concrete as he navigates his way around the clusters of people. He feels an odd kinship with everyone in here. They are all in transition. Like him.

The worst part of the whole thing was that his parents wouldn't believe him that it was still that bad, his mother made that abundantly clear. At least not until he ended up in the hospital like last time.

Blaine wasn't going to wait that long.

He settled the strap of his guitar case more comfortably on his shoulder as he joins the line. Had he forgotten anything? He tried to think back. He pushes past the remembered tears and the hurt at seeing his room ripped apart. He starts on a mental checklist of things he will need, but stops himself. It is too late now and he will have to buy anything else he needs in New York.

His hand dips into one of his deep pockets and runs his thumb along the wad of cash stashed there. He figured his parents owed him that at least, to start his new life.

All but one of his bags are taken from him and stored under the bus. He tried to make sure they are careful with the guitar. He hands his bus ticket to the elderly driver and it hits him. He is really doing this. Giddiness fills his stomach and he takes the stairs of the bus quickly.

Somewhere in the middle of the bus he swings himself into a window seat, his bag placed carefully at his feet. Blaine pulled out his book and iPod. With the music turned up loud and the book to block his view he could almost believe he was just curled up by himself somewhere happy.

The bus rolled forward and he curled into his seat. He could ignore the woman sitting in front of him, the sickening sent of garlic and broccoli wafting over the seat towards him. He could ignore the cramps starting in his legs.

Blaine let the buildings that rushed past on the other side of the tinted window blur in his vision. He pulled open the battered book he had brought with him after Kenton. And he must have passed our somewhere after Pittsburgh.

The rustling of people all around woke him. His neck and right shoulder were sore from the awkward angle he had slept in. His book was closed on one finger in his lap. He doggy-ears a corner and zips it into a side pocket.

Blaine jumps up and squeezes his way to the front of the bus, bag slung over one shoulder. He can't believe he missed his first view of New York. It was life and people, so many people; creative people, rich people, poor people. Blaine wanted to see all of them. He wanted to be one of them. He took the stairs down at a jog. New York was going to be beautiful. He just knew.

Blaine stepped off the bus and looked up for his first view of his new city and it was…

It was…

A concrete wall.

He looked around desperate for _something,_ something else to remember. But he was in a concrete box with other over-tired and rather less than glamorous travelers.

"Welcome to New York." The impersonal voice of the driver shocked him into movement.

"Thanks." Blaine's voice shook slightly. But no one seemed to notice, much less care. So he drew his shoulders in a little closer to himself and lined up to get the his bags from the bottom of the bus. The faster he was out of here the better. Following the dispersing passengers he made his way with the crowd up and up through smoothed yellow-and-red-brick walls and homeless people curled up in corners.

Blaine was thankful when he got out of the bus terminal and into the _real_ New York. This was the city he remembered.

First thing was first. Buy a prepaid cell phone.

Or maybe food.

Blaine spotted a cafe just to his left.

Definitely food first.

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><p>"Please. I can pay in cash. I will even put down a deposit."<p>

"I am sorry sir." The young girl behind the counter looked less sorry and more bored in Blaine's opinion, but he was not going to tell her that.

"Is there any way you could make an exception, just this once."

"Sir, you need a credit card to book a hostel room. If you don't have one I can't help you." She repeated herself slowly not even looking Blaine in the eyes. "Now can you step aside? There is a line."

"Can you think of anywhere that takes cash?" Blaine tried for a charming smile but felt it falter under her glare.

"No. The policy is pretty standard. You really should leave, sir," the last syllable laced with distain.

Blaine walked.

He walked out the door and down the street.

He walked down the street and past a park.

He walked passed that park. He kept walking past cafe's and recusants and theatres, past hotels filled with people.

Oh the people. So, so many. People with people. People with dogs, books or a chip on their shoulder. People who chatted on benches and cell phones to other people who loved them.

People who had places they belonged.

People who weren't him.

Blaine held his cell tighter in his palm. Maybe he couldn't do it.

Blaine pulled out a note book. He scanned the numbers on the first page and entered it into his phone carefully.

"Hey. It is me, Blaine." Blaine took a deep breath, steadying the phone by pressing it harder into his ear. "I know this is kinda last minute. But I am in the neighborhood and… Can we meet somewhere? I know it has been a while. I just don't know who else to call."

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><p>David's apartment was cramped but nice. Everything was soft neutral colors. There was even a tiny balcony that had iron railings off the living room. Not that you could fit more than one person on it at a time.<p>

David sat back, resting his mug on the kitchen table and waited for Blaine to gather his thoughts.

"Five hours. I've been here five hours and I'm already failing." Blaine looked down into his coffee. "I guess I am failing at everything these days."

"No you are not." David's eyes are soft. "Blaine, your parents…"

"I'm not going back, David." Blaine replied firmly.

David held up both hands in surrender before leaning forward, wrapping them around the warm mug. "But did you at least tell them you weren't kidnapped?"

"Yes." Blaine conceded grudgingly. "I left a note."

"Good. Ok. So you were planning to come to New York and do what exactly?" He let the question hang in the air between them.

"I don't know."Blaine said after a moment's consideration. "Find a hostel. Play music for people. Live. Not be like _them._" He mentally shivered at the thought.

"I see. But Blaine, living in the city is hard. You have less than a year left at Dalton; don't you think you could just wait it out?"

"No. I can't." Blaine looked up. "I have to do this David. I promise."

David sighed at the steely look in Blaine's eyes. He wasn't going to budge, at least not tonight. Maybe a week or so would disabuse him of the notion. "Fine. But you better look so darn cute when Mandy gets home the she forgets all about being mad at me for not telling her we had company coming tonight."

"I'll do my best." Blaine's eyes opened wide in bewilderment.

David looked at Blaine's slightly mussed hair big clueless eyes and pouting mouth all wrapped in an obscenely age inappropriate bow-tie. "There it is."

David was right. Mandy stormed in the door at eight and immediately adopted Blaine. She was a whirlwind of pink streaks in brown hair, long legs and cheeks that belong on a chipmunk, or some other cute woodland creature.

In fact, she chattered just about as much as one too. It might even get annoying if she didn't do everything so fascinatingly _fast._ Blaine is completely enthralled; he hardly notices accepting the invitation to stay on their couch that night or the delicious meal that David made for them.

Blaine soon found himself tucked between them watching David Bowie lording over a host of freaky puppets in the cheesy classic _Labyrinth._

"You remind me of the babe."Mandy sang, in perfect time with Bowie.

"What babe?" Blaine replied without thinking. He loved this song.

"The babe with the power." Her smile grew as she looked over to him for the next line.

"What power?" He supplied quirking an eyebrow at her in return.

"The power of Voodoo." She jumped from the couch pulling Blaine along with her.

"Who do?" Blaine exaggerated the high squeaky voice, which earned a snort of amusement from David behind them.

"You do."

"Do what?"

"Remind me of the babe." When the music broke through Mandy started flailing very slowly. It was so ridiculous that it had all three of them laughing by the end of the song.

Blaine grinned into his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around then and leaning into the bottom of the couch, seated on the floor. This was what he dreamed New York would feel like.

And then something hit him. This nice apartment, the fun woman, all of it wasn't his. It wasn't his home or his dream. Blaine felt himself withdrawing inwards again. He wished he could stay here and watch Bowie, but that is not what he came to New York to do. He wasn't proving anything to anyone. This was just as flawed and safe as the house he had left in Ohio.

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><p>Blaine doesn't remember falling asleep. He doesn't remember getting tucking into the couch under thick blankets, or someone taking off his shoes. He doesn't remember the last half of <em>Interview With a Vampire<em>.

He rolled a little, side to side, letting the blankets tuck themselves under him with the motion. His nose was cold and he felt a draft. A partially opened eye reveals that the door to the balcony is open and Mandy is opening the door to come back in.

Blaine sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

"Morning." She sat on his feet at the end of the couch. "Did you sleep ok?"

"Ye-e-e-ah" He yawned.

"Come on. I've made eggs and there is something I want to talk to you about." Blaine let her pull him up and lead him to the table. She wasn't lying. There was a large heap of eggs and toast waiting for him on the kitchen table.

His stomach grumbled. The popcorn from last night seemed all too unsubstantial now.

"Please child, eat. You look like you need to," she eyed his exposed collar bone, grabbing just a piece of toast for herself.

"Ok here is the thing," she began when he had settled into his food. "David is a great guy. But he doesn't get it. I- His parents are really nice." There was a fondness in her eyes marred by a slight tightness in her lips. "He thinks that if we don't talk about it, you will just go home in a week."

Blaine nodded slowly taking in all she was saying, his gut twisting with nervousness.

"I don't agree. Some may just say that is my contrary nature coming out." She flicked her hair with one finger over her shoulders and leaned in. "I say those people are ... naive."

"Mandy." Blaine felt the word coming from low in his throat.

"Blaine." She stopped him. "I don't need you to justify your story to me. Honest. If you want to tell it to me I want it to be because you trust me and want me to hear it. I flatter myself into thinking I am personable, but not enough to fool myself into thinking that you are ready for that after one night. No matter how fun it may have been." She winked at him suggestively. "So I have a friend who is looking for a roommate. Here is her number," she pushed a piece of paper across to him. "And don't tell David where you got it.

"I have to go to class." She stood. "And David won't be back from work for a while. Feel free to help yourself to movies or books." She made a vague gesture towards the living room and gave him one last sweeping look. "And for God's sake eat something. You are going to give me a complex."

Blaine didn't pick up the piece of paper till he heard the door slam, Mandy still calling out suggestions of what he should do with himself while he was alone.

He knew he couldn't stay at David's forever, but maybe he didn't have to give all this up just yet.

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><p><strong>AN:Look! A second chapter appeared! Thanks to my Betas, as always. Also thank you to the people who reviewed the last chapter! It was nice to see some familiar Pan names! I missed you guys. Please, if you have a minute leave a comment. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**To busk: preform on the street for money. **

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><p>David dropped the last bag on the floor. "Listen, Blaine, I know you don't want this now. But just. Here," he handed him a page with a number on it.<p>

What was with this couple and giving out numbers on scraps of paper? Blaine wondered as he looked over the 1-800 number printed there. Is that how they met? Their passion for randomly handing numbers to people.

"It's a hot line. Just tell them you are ok. I know they want to hear from you."

Blaine didn't look up. He just nodded and pressed his lips tighter together. "Thanks, David." David meant the best by giving him the number, Blaine knew, but it didn't stop the sharp pang to his chest.

David clapped him on the shoulder. "Remember, Mandy might seem normal enough but her friends… aren't. And you are always welcome to crash on our couch."

With that Blaine was alone, with his stuff stacked in a neat pile in a corner. He slowly took in the room. The light over head was harsh, bouncing and reflecting back off the bear white walls. Tiny holes littered those walls, where one could only assume posters once hung. He tested the old mattress that was pushed up against the far corner. It seemed a little firm for his tastes but was otherwise free of stomach-turning stains and questionable smudges.

He rolled out the old sleeping bag on top of it. The effect was rather pathetic, the pale blue blanket looked ratty and horridly depressing against the stark surroundings. However, Blaine was in no position to complain so tried to think of it like a camping trip. He used to like camping.

He stretched out on it and stared at the blank ceiling. He tried to pretend that it's a good thing that everything is so lacking in personality. He had wanted a clean slate, and that is what this should be for him.

Mostly he just felt lonely.

"Hey," A voice drifted into his room. There was a shuffling motion past his door. He sat up.

"Hi." A thin girl with straggly blond hair and a fluffy purple bathrobe slouched into view. "You must be Sidney," he started, but she had already shuffled on.

Blaine heard the click of a door and then running water. He collapsed back onto his bed.

* * *

><p>"Dude, sorry about this morning. I don't talk much." Blaine started up from the guitar in his lap, careful not to spill it on to the ground. Sydney looked down at him from the hallway, although now she had on loose jeans and a greenish-gray zipped hoodie.<p>

"Yeah I got that." Blaine smiled at the memory of their phone conversation, which had, all told, almost matched in brevity the length of her last comment.

"You play?" She gestured down to the instrument in his lap. He nodded. "Awesome possum. You should come busk with me sometime. Later."

A small smile tilted Blaine's mouth. He cocked his head the same way to watch Sidney disappearing back into her room.

At least David had warned him.

It was a week before Blaine and Sid found an opportunity to go busking together. It was not what he expected. First of all they didn't practice before hand, second Sid brought her accordion and thirdly….

"Five dollars? We've been playing for hours."

Sid shrugged like it explained everything. "Gotta run. See you at home." She drifted into the crowd. Blaine didn't even see her disappear.

Blaine contemplated the change in his pocket, worrying it with his fingers as he walked home, head hung low. He took some money from his house when he had left home, but he honestly thought that by now he would be able to support himself with music and…

Blaine sighed. He honestly had no idea how he expected to be able to make enough money to feed and house himself. He unlocked the door to his place his brow still furrowed with thoughts too heavy for his skull.

He was still brooding when he phone rang.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaahrling. David has left me at loose ends tonight, with a credit card. We are going out. Dress pretty."

"Mandy. I can't I have...things to do."

"Do these things involve you sitting in the apartment and sulking?"

"No." The lie was so thick on his tongue that he couldn't even fool himself into thinking she might have believed it.

"Perfect! Than I am not interrupting anything! See you in ten!" which meant he had exactly one hour to sulk in peace before she showed up at seven and forced him to be social.

He groaned and laid himself out on the couch, preparing his martyred puppy look for when she got here. Maybe he could talk her into a movie in and Thai food.

She ended up showing up a full half hour before he expected, dressed to the nines in a dress that made good use of her long legs.

"Up! Dressed! We are late!" She stormed to his closet and drawing out a suitable outfit. "Hurry. I am making tea."

"I thought you said we were late!" Blaine called to her departing figure, switching his pants for the dressy ones she had handed him.

"Blaine! There is always time for tea." She admonished.

But only tea to go, as was made apparent to Blaine as she handed him a thermos and pushed him out to the waiting taxi. He scooted and she squished closer and then they were off with a 'giddy up!' called to their already slightly irritated driver.

She draped her legs over his lap and unscrewed the thermos in Blaine's hands. "If you spill I will murder you. Comprendre? "

"Absolument." They clinked plastic cups and Blaine almost chocked at the taste of rum in the chai tea.

Blaine shifted in the theatre's seat.

"Ex-squeeze me." Mandy chirped making her way towards Blaine, bum pressed against the seats in front of them as she scooted past those already seated. She folded herself into her seat with a huff. "Program?"

Blaine took it mostly gracefully. "Now will you be quiet? It is starting."

"Says the guy who didn't want to come in the first place." She whispered back as the house lights dimmed.

"Hush." He smiled back. Maybe he was starting to think that this was not such a bad idea.

Everything was dark and then a spot of light illuminated a face. It was a perfect face. And all Blaine could think was, apparently he had a type. And this man was it. His soft boyish features were cut into a perfectly sculpted face. And his skin. Oh god, it nearly shone under the lighting.

Blaine didn't see anything else the entire play. Just his every gesture, every laugh. His stomach flipped and suddenly he was very glad for the darkness that wrapped him in anonymity.

"Blaine. You ok?" Mandy whispered to him as the lights came down on the first act.

"Ya." Blaine adjusted his tie. Watching the way the man's shoulders pressed against the delicate fabric of his costume.

"Aw." Mandy looked between him and the actor. "Someone has a crush!"

"God, yell it why don't you." Blaine sunk deep into the seat trying to make himself as small as possible. And then it started all over again, the need to be closer that was almost drawing him onto the stage, the giddiness at being allowed to see in person. It was all so very tangible.

Blaine licked his lips.

"Mandy." He whispered desperately to her. "I am going to need more tea."

* * *

><p>"Mandyyyyyyyyeee. Kurt Hummel is <em>beautiful<em>!"

"I know, dear. I was there."Her tone was clipped as she dumped Blaine into the bathtub. Apparently spiking the tea was not as funny to her when Blaine was drunk and in her lap all the way home.

"And he co-wrote the play. Smart men are so sexy, aren't they?"

"Yes, and right now you are a hot mess. Stay. I'll tell Sid you made it home." She pushed a blanket and pillow on him in the tub and turned out the light.

Not that Blaine noticed. He was too busy humming with images of a certain young star danced in his head.

* * *

><p>In the long scheme of things Blaine found that busking without Sid was much more profitable, and had a lot less thrashing involved. He counted the day as a win when he could get a few people at a time listening.<p>

The best way to do that was to play trick on the guitar. His favorite was to play the tune of one song and sing another. His rock-styled "Mary Had A Little Lamb" was always a crowd pleaser. And Blaine was nothing if not one who sought to please. But he loved to play original songs. The songs he had been working on so hard.

He liked his spot. It was shaded for most of the afternoon and was close to a really good small cafe which he frequented when trying to write new songs. He loved the sounds of car horns and the beat of feet on concrete. He tried to work the rhythms into his sounds. He tried to blend into the city, become a part of it. Let it live in him as he plucked his guitar until his fingers ached.

Sometimes he would have enough to buy dinner for himself that night. Sometimes he had enough to take the girls out to the little diner two blocks down from them. Most of the time he would put it away, with the rapidly depleting pile of cash from Ohio.

One day on his way home something made him stop. There was a little repair shop tucked away in a corner of the city. In the window was a tiny sign; Full time assistant needed immediately.

Granted, Blaine didn't know much about cars, but he had been forced to rebuild one with his dad the past three summers running. Something had to have stuck with him.

Blaine took a deep breath and tried to remember what confidence felt like, something akin to floating perhaps. He walked into the shop with long strides and a bright smile.

"Hi. My name is Blaine." He introduced himself to the tall man behind the counter. "I am looking to talk to someone about the position open?"

The man gave him an apprising look. He narrowed his eyes. "What is your favorite football team?"

Was that a trick question? "The Buckeyes."

The man nodded, relaxing. "You might just actually work out, Blaine. See you tomorrow at eight."

Blaine walked out dazed. It wasn't before he was on the phone to David that he realized he didn't actually know what the job was.

People do this every day, Blaine assured himself that night. It can't be that hard. His brows shot together and his eyes tightened.

It was Sidney's idea. That he buy food from a store and cook it himself, like a regular person. Having a job, cooking for himself. Blaine almost felt like a real adult these days.

Blaine turned the knob gently. Six. Six was a good number. He held his hand over the coil. It wasn't getting warm. He let his hand down a bit lower. Still not hot. He cranked the knob up slowly until it was all the way up to high then let his hand hover over the burner again.

He felt a little heat and contented himself with that for now. He put the pot on it and turned to the counter where a tin can was sitting. What had Sid said? Just open the can and put it in the pot.

Open the can. Blaine took it in his hands feeling the smooth label absently beneath his fingers. Open the can.

How do you open a can?

Blaine tore though the drawers with one hand, the other still clutching the soup. He pulled and rattled and shook. There had to be something that would open the can. Sidney had said it so confidently, like she had done it a million times. Blaine must be missing something.

He ran his hand through his hair and growled in frustration. He looked around him at all the drawer pulled out and cupboards pulled wide open. He ran his eyes across the content of each again. Slowly he started closing the cabinets and replacing the gadgets that he had rummaged through. The Wine opener, he knew what that was at least, went with the other odd devices that he had no clue how to use, or what to use them for. Well except or the swiss army knife.

Wait.

He pulled it back out and flicked it open. Perfect.

He jammed the switch blade into the top of the can with enormous amounts of satisfaction, useful and cathartic. Just what he needed.

Blaine sawed and stabbed till the can gave up and there was a gaping, raged hole in the top. Blaine slipped the knife away, grinning.

Just as he was reaching in with one finger to coax the lid off he smelt something different. Something wrong.

When Sid got home Blaine was sitting on the couch with a bandaged finger eating cold soup.

"The stove broke," he remarked when she sniffed the air.

"Cool beans." She said slumping beside him. "Is Jeopardy on?"

Jeopardy was on, and they watched it together until the news came on. Blaine watched unseeing, toying with the idea of another can of soup.

"… The police report no further leads in the Anderson case. The son of the affluent media mogul, James Anderson, went missing earlier this month…" Blaine managed to flick the TV off without Sid looking up from her burrito, her delicate fingers dripping in the thick brown sauce.

"The news is so depressing." He commented, staring at the blank TV. The image of his last school photo hanging beside the newscasters head burned into his eyes.

"Hum." Blaine got up on shaky legs and tries his best not to trip on his way to the bathroom.

"His parents must miss him. That kid on the news." Blaine caught himself on the door frame.

"Yeah." He managed before shutting the door behind him with more force than strictly necessary.

Sometimes he missed his parents, too.

He grimaced at grimy mirror reflecting his face back at him. He turned the taps on with a practiced flick and cupped his hands under them. He dipped his head carefully and dribbled water into the gel on his head. Slowly he washed it all out; gel water and tears mixing as they were all washed away and pulled down the drain. He pressed a mostly clean towel against the freed curls. He brushed the towel against his face, trying to dampen the puffiness from his eyes.

He returned the towel to the rack and gently tossed his old hair gel into the trash.

No one ever told kids the truth, growing up sucked.

* * *

><p><strong>My best friend said that she liked this story. So this chapter is for her encouraging me. Also, I have now realized she will tease me mercilessly for calling her my best friend. Jerk. :P (love you babe)<strong>

**Thank you to my betas! 3**


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